Locks of Hair and Soulmates
by sarahandmarquis
Summary: For everyone there is a soulmate, determined by a lock of hair. One-shot. Complete.


Christine would sometimes sit in front her mirror and examine the stringy black lock of hair that sometimes hide itself under her thick golden mane. The stringy black hair had a mind of its own and didn't like staying in her usually ponytail. The texture was different from hers, reminding her more of a horse's tail than the hair of a man.

They always said that you had a lock of hair from your soulmate.

Somewhere, there was a man with a lock of rich golden hair that must shine from his own head.

.

.

Erik's mother had always kept his head shaved, almost doing it every day so he never knew what his real hair color was.

It was only after he had run away that he found his own hair color was a stringy black, excepting a single lock of thick golden hair. Even at his young age, he knew what that hair meant. His soulmate was a woman with golden hair.

He kept that section shaved on his own after that.

.

.

Christine had briefly wondered if soulmates were so important after she had been with Raoul. He was sweet. They were happy together and he had a lock of golden hair that he swore was the same color as hers. She knew well enough that it was paler than her rich gold.

When he made friends with a girl named Meg, Christine told him a gentle goodbye, already knowing that Meg's color perfectly matched his.

His light brunet was obvious on the sweet ballerina's head as well.

.

.

Erik tried not to look at every girl with golden hair as a possible soulmate but that color haunted him through his days. Keeping it shaved meant he had no color to compare it and spent hours wondering if the kind girl who had fled at the sight of him might be her. The torment nearly destroyed him several times.

As the years dragged on, he began to question if he ever would meet his soul mate. Was she still alive? Was she already with someone else? Had he done something that kept him from meeting her? Maybe his golden lock was a fluke, an accident.

He stopped shaving it when he reached forty and his stringy black gained its first silver strands.

.

.

Christine saw the lock turning to silver, giving her pause to wonder at the age of her soulmate. She supposed though that it wouldn't matter in the end. She hadn't found a man with that color of hair yet. Such a singular shade and constancy.

She couldn't forget his hair when she ran into him going home one night. He was tall, inhumanly so. Stringy black hair, cropped short, escaped the proper hat he wore. In the light of the streetlamp, she could see it was flecked with silver.

Everything flecked with silver except for the single lock of golden hair tucked behind one ear.

.

.

Erik almost didn't say anything to the woman when he saw the thick mane of golden hair. It was the perfect shade. She was too young, he told himself. She was too pretty. He would have walked on except for the break in the golden waves, made by a lock of stringy black hair.

He helped her to her feet and helped her dust the snow off her coat. His voice stuck in his throat but he managed to introduce himself. She was really too pretty for the likes of him.

Nevertheless, when they parted, he carried her number in his front pocket.

.

.

Christine waited anxiously by her phone for two days until he finally texted her. He admitted nervousness. He admitted he wasn't sure if he should. She soothed the worries as much as possible before asking if they could meet again to talk. She was nearly thirty, and far too excited to have finally found her soulmate.

He agreed far quicker than she expected. They met at a coffee shop and talked for hours. They made an odd couple she knew, her young and pretty and him…well, she didn't know exactly how to describe him. Not young and not typically handsome.

She liked him just as he was though and their parting kiss that night told both of them all they needed to know.

.

.

Erik kept their courtship short. Both knew what they wanted, there was no reason to wait any longer than necessary. She had no one to complain anymore and he'd never had anyone to begin with. She accepted his face, much to his surprise, and loved him, again, much to his surprise.

The wedding was quick, performed soon after the last snow of that winter. Too many years had passed already for both of them.

They thanked fate for the soulmate mark and the happiness that it brought about.


End file.
